Chapter 18
Simeon eased the door of their bedroom open, careful not to wake Abigail. He should have thought to grab his suit and tie out of the closet before he’d gone to sleep last night, but it hadn’t occurred to him then.
His heart crunched, seeing her sleeping on his side of the bed. Over the past months, it seemed she’d crept farther and farther to her side, until some nights he wondered how she managed not to fall out of bed.
He shuffled closer, nearly reaching to brush the hair off her cheek but stopping himself at the last second. She needed sleep. And he needed to get ready. He stepped into the small walk-in closet and pulled the door closed behind him before flipping on the light. Slowly, he pulled on his darkest suit.
Each piece weighed heavier on him, and by the time he’d cinched the tie, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this day. He leaned his forearm on a shelf and rested his head against it, closing his eyes.
Give us all strength, Lord, especially Zeb. Help us to be there for him. And help him to know that you are with him. Give him comfort in knowing that Carly is with you. Amen.
Slowly, he pulled the closet door open, flipping off the light at the same time.
Abigail stirred, opening her eyes and sitting up. Her hair was mussed, and she looked slightly confused—and completely beautiful. Simeon’s heart squeezed once again in gratitude. If things had been different, he might be the one burying his wife today. The thought drove him to her side, but he stopped short of pulling her into a hug. She wasn’t ready for that yet.
“Sorry I woke you,” he whispered. “I needed my suit.”
She looked him up and down. “You look nice.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t expected the compliment. “Carly’s funeral is today.”
“Right.” She seemed completely unaffected by the news. He supposed, in some small way, it was a blessing that she didn’t remember Carly. He didn’t want to imagine what she’d be going through right now otherwise. The accident hadn’t been her fault, but Simeon had counseled enough people in similar situations to know she wouldn’t necessarily see it that way.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come along?” Honestly, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this without her at his side.
But she shook her head. “No thanks. I don’t even know the dead woman so—”
Simeon felt himself wince, and she fell silent.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “That’s why I shouldn’t come. I don’t want to say something stupid like that and upset everyone.”
“It’s not stupid.” Simeon forced his face back to neutral. “And no one will be upset.”
Abigail shook her head again. “I’d rather stay here. If that’s okay?”
“Of course.” Simeon glanced around the room. He should have thought to have someone come stay with her. “Will you be okay by yourself?” He’d barely left her side since the accident, and the thought of leaving her alone now sent a small wave of panic through him. But he couldn’t just not go to Carly’s funeral.
“I assume I’ve been alone before?” Abigail’s tone was light, almost laughing, and Simeon relaxed a little.
“You have. But maybe don’t leave the house for now. In case you don’t remember your way around town.”
She nodded her agreement, and Simeon stood watching her, the need to wrap her in his arms nearly overpowering him.
“Go,” she said, waving him away. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be right here when you get home.”
Simeon nodded and swallowed. “See you soon. I love you.”
He didn’t wait for her to say it back because he knew she wouldn’t. For now, it was enough to know that she heard him.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of Beautiful Savior. Instead of getting out of his vehicle, he stared up at the old brick building, the cross on its steeple pointing straight to the sky. So many important moments in his family’s life had taken place here. His and Abigail’s wedding. Asher and Ireland’s. Joseph’s and Ava’s. Zeb and Carly’s. His fingers clenched the steering wheel.
They’d said goodbye to Mama here.
And now they’d say goodbye to Carly.
Simeon shook his head but forced himself to get out of the vehicle and cross the parking lot. The moment he entered the lobby, his family descended on him.
“How’s Abigail?” at least five voices asked at once.
“She’s okay. Getting settled at home.” He scanned the space where several groups talked in low whispers. “Where’s Zeb?”
“In with Dad,” Grace answered quietly.
Simeon nodded. “How is he? Really?” Grace and Zeb had always been close.
Grace sighed. “Same as any of us would be in that situation, I guess.” She glanced up at Levi, who stood at her other side. Levi wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Simeon was hit with a longing to have his wife at his side.
“God will get him through this,” Grace added firmly. “And we’ll all be here to help.”
“Except Judah,” Simeon muttered. Grace gave him a look, and he shrugged. Maybe now wasn’t the time to bring up their estranged brother, but every time the family gathered for something like this, it was hard not to notice his absence.
“Hey, man, you been up to the front yet?” Benjamin asked in a low voice.
“Not yet.” Simeon swallowed. “You?”
Benjamin shook his head, and they started toward the casket together.
“She used to babysit me,” Benjamin whispered as they reached it. Simeon nodded and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Don’t tell Zeb,” Benjamin leaned closer as he whispered again, “but I had a crush on her until I was like thirteen.”
Simeon laughed quietly. “Weren’t you thirteen when they got married?”
“What do you think cured my crush?”
Simeon’s snort was way too loud, but he patted Benjamin’s back. Trust his youngest brother to know exactly what to say.
But Simeon’s laugh died as Zeb stepped up to the casket. Simeon moved to one side and Benjamin to the other, and the rest of the family closed in behind Zeb.
Zeb placed both hands on his wife’s casket and bowed his head.
Simeon reached to clutch his brother’s shoulder. After a moment, Zeb nodded and turned to sit down. They all followed, cramming into the first two pews as Dad made his way to the front of the church.
“This is not an easy day,” Dad began the service. “When I stood up here nine years ago, asking Zeb and Carly to pledge their lives to one another, pledge to love each other until death parted them, I never imagined it would be so soon.” He cleared his throat.
“But though it’s never easy to say goodbye to those we love, we know that this goodbye is only for a little while. And though we mourn our loss, we can also rejoice at Carly’s gain. The first time I met her, Carly was only ten years old, and I can so clearly remember her saying to me at Sunday school, ‘Let us rejoice today and be glad.’ And if she were here today, she would be telling us those exact same words. Because she knew that to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
All down the pew, Simeon’s siblings were wiping their eyes but also smiling—even Zeb.
Something released in Simeon. Grace was right. God was going to see Zeb through this. And he would see Abigail through it too.
Abigail sighed, staring at yet another photo that meant nothing to her. She’d been trying to finish off the stack they hadn’t gotten to last night. But without Simeon here to give the pictures context, they might as well have been images of strangers. One of whom happened to have her face.
She pushed back from the table, getting up carefully. As long as she didn’t make any sudden movements, her ribs seemed to be okay right now.
She’d already toured the whole house twice this morning, hoping to find something, anything, that would jog her memories. But aside from the things that had happened at the hospital, her mind seemed to be a giant blank. It felt like she had just woken up in this life one day—as if she’d been born as a thirty-two-year-old with no history. Except all the evidence said she did have a history.
The house had grown stuffy, and she moved to the dining room windows. It took a lot of grunting and plenty of pain to open them, but it was worth it for the fresh breeze that swept through the screen, carrying with it a floral scent—possibly from the giant white blossoms on the tree in the middle of the backyard.
She made her way to the front of the house, taking a moment to psych herself up for the effort before she opened the living room window as well. The sound of laughter and joyful shrieking carried in on the wind, and Abigail tilted her head. Where was it coming from?
She eyed the empty sidewalk and the inviting blue sky. Simeon had said not to leave the house—but she’d been cooped up inside for so long. A little walk was just what she needed. With the way her ribs felt, she wouldn’t be able to go far enough to get lost, anyway.
Now, all she had to do was find some shoes. She’d noticed a coat closet under the stairs, and she pulled that open. Sure enough, there was a pair of pink tennis shoes. She picked them up, making note that she apparently liked pink.
Outside, she paused to listen. The laughter and shrieking sounded like they were coming from down the street to her left. She set off in that direction, not sure why she was drawn to the sounds.
It was only a couple of blocks before she spotted a school playground full of children.
She stopped, watching groups playing kickball and hopscotch and four square. It had never even occurred to her to ask if she and Simeon had children, but she supposed he would have mentioned it if they did. Plus, there would probably be a children’s bedroom and toys and car seats and whatever else went with having kids.
She let out a long breath. Thank goodness that was one thing they didn’t have to worry about. It was bad enough she’d forgotten her husband, but she couldn’t even imagine how terrible it would be to forget her own children.
A loud bell rang, and the kids all scattered toward the school’s doors. Abigail watched until the playground was empty, then turned and walked back home, relieved when she spotted the house without any trouble. She took off her shoes and returned them to the closet. As she was about to close it, a basket on the top shelf caught her eye. Something fluffy draped over the side, and Abigail studied it for a minute. There was something about it that made her want to pull it down and hold it.
Needles rammed into her ribs as she reached for the basket, but she kept going. She managed to grip the edge, and it started to fall forward. Her ribs wrenched as she tried and failed to catch it, but it landed on the floor in front of her with a soft thud.
She stood over it, breathing heavily, pressing her hand tight to her ribs until the pain subsided a little. Then she crouched to dig through its contents. The fluffy item seemed to be a hand-knit blanket, and it wasn’t until she’d lifted it out of the basket that she realized it was only half finished.
It was still connected to a thick skein of yarn with two knitting needles shoved through it. Abigail ran a hand over the blanket. Had she made it? It seemed impossible, and yet . . .
She carried the blanket and yarn and knitting needles to the couch in the living room. Spreading the blanket across her lap in spite of the heat, she slowly withdrew the needles from the yarn.
Her fingers seemed to know automatically how to grip them. And then she was winding yarn around the needles, pulling them back and forth. She didn’t stop until she’d finished a whole row. And then she sat staring at it. How had she done that? She didn’t remember ever learning how to knit. And yet, this most recent row looked just like all the rest.
Abigail shrugged and started another row. She watched her hands move back and forth, listened to the needles click together, and let her mind go blank.
She didn’t know how long she’d been working when the sound of a vehicle in the driveway drew her eyes up from the blanket. She watched the front door, her stomach swimming, though she couldn’t identify why.
Footsteps sounded on the front porch, and then the door opened, and Simeon was standing there, staring at her. His eyes were a little red, and his hair was windblown, but her gaze was drawn to his mouth, which he opened and closed and opened again, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words out.
“What are you doing?” he finally managed. His eyes locked on the blanket in her lap.
She glanced down. “Knitting. I think?” She looked back up at him. “I just picked it up and started doing it.” She bit her lip, not quite brave enough to ask the question that had been growing in her mind as she’d worked on the blanket.
“That’s . . .” Simeon walked slowly across the room and sat heavily on the other side of the couch, rubbing both hands over his face.
The hope that had been building in Abigail fell a little. She’d expected Simeon to be more excited, if this meant what she thought it meant. “You don’t think it means I’m getting my memories back?”
Simeon lowered his hands. He looked exhausted, but he managed a gentle smile that she had already figured out meant he was trying to soften the blow. “It might.” He slid a little closer to her on the couch, although there was still a whole cushion between them. “More likely, knitting is something stored in your procedural memory.”
“And that’s bad?”
Simeon laughed a little. “No. It’s good. Procedural memory is basically what people sometimes call muscle memory. It’s why you can remember a skill, like riding a bike, even if you haven’t done it for years.” He gestured to the blanket on her lap. “Or knitting. But unfortunately, it doesn’t have much to do with your long-term or autobiographical memories.”
“Oh.” She smoothed a hand over the even stitches, swallowing down the disappointment.
“It doesn’t mean you won’t get your memories back.” Simeon slid closer again, and now there was only half a cushion between them. “We’re not going to give up, okay?”
She nodded but couldn’t find her voice to answer.
Simeon leaned back until his head rested on the top of the couch and closed his eyes.
“How was the funeral?” she asked quietly.
“Hard.” Simeon opened his eyes and met hers. “But good. Dad’s sermon was a good reminder that our hope isn’t in this world but in the next.”
Abigail nodded. She wasn’t quite sure she understood what that meant, but Simeon looked too tired to explain.
“Do you want to take a nap?” she asked. “I can go somewhere else.”
“A nap sounds nice.” Simeon tipped himself to the side until he was lying down with his head on the far end of the couch, his legs bent so that his feet stopped just short of touching her.
She started to get up, but Simeon mumbled, “Please stay.”
She hesitated. But she didn’t have anything else to do. And he was looking at her with such a sharp ache that she could feel it right through her own middle.
She sat back and started knitting again, and within a few minutes, his soft snores joined the clacking of her needles.